


Easy Rider

by CorpusInvictus



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Motorcycle Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-10
Packaged: 2017-12-04 22:20:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/715738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CorpusInvictus/pseuds/CorpusInvictus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone prompted me to write PWP porn based on idkmybffspock's fabulous fanart found <a href="http://idkmybffspock.livejournal.com/10439.html#cutid2">here</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Easy Rider

Spock does his best not to shift uncomfortably. It is not a position he would willingly choose to be in except that the look on Jim’s face - and the obvious bulge in his pants - are making it worth his while. “Jim...”

“Shh,” Jim returns, eyes traveling over the length of him.

He feels vaguely ridiculous, poured over Jim’s hoverbike wearing nothing but Jim’s leather jacket and riding boots. His chest is plastered to the cold metal of the bike in front of the seat, his cock rubbing against the soft, worn synthetic leather, his legs feeling cool and exposed on either side of the bike.

He stretches his arms over the steering handles, his back arching further at the movement, Jim’s eyes growing ever-wider. “Jim,” he says again, hoping it sounds rough and seductive this time rather than borderline whiny.

It has the intended effect, whatever he sounds like. Jim moves closer, one hand pressed to the small of his back just under the hem of the jacket. His hand feels cool against Spock’s heated skin. “What on earth made you do this?”

Spock’s cheeks go green as he lowers his head on top of his arms in a weak attempt at hiding the blush. “You mentioned it once.”

“Yeah, once when I was totally drunk with Bones.”

“If you wish for me to move-” Spock begins, lifting up one leg as if to dismount.

“Oh no,” Jim returns quickly, squeezing his thigh as he urges it back down. “If you think I’m not gonna take advantage of this when the opportunity is staring me in the face…”

He hides a pleased smirk in the sleeve of the jacket, closing his eyes and enjoying the soft sounds of clothing being removed and tossed haphazardly around the garage. He lets out a quiet rumble of appreciation as he feels Jim settle in the space behind him, hands skimming under the jacket and over his ribs, tweaking his nipples gently before reaching to flip a switch on the steering column. The bike rights itself suddenly, the artificial gravity controls keeping the bike firmly on the ground without Spock having to exert so much energy keeping it upright with his feet. “Oh,” he breathes quietly, wishing he’d known about that before his calves had started aching with the strain.

And also because Jim’s fingers are back at his nipples, pinching and twisting and making him suddenly glad for the cool metal beneath them.

“Built her myself,” Jim murmurs against his neck, pressing a slow, biting kiss to the nape. “Thought those might come in handy someday.” His hands skim back along his ribs and then around his stomach, insinuating them between the seat and Spock’s skin, his thumb rubbing teasingly over the head of his cock. “Just never imagined _this_ would be the reason they’d come in handy, not that I’m complaining.”

He intends to make a remark about assigning gender to inanimate objects, a conversation they’ve almost exhausted when talking about the ship, but the sudden ache of arousal low in his spine stops the argument before he can speak a word. “Ngh,” is what escapes him instead, a low huff of encouragement, arching his back and rocking forward to feel more of Jim’s hand around him. He feels more than hears the sudden intake of breath behind him.

“Spock,” Jim breathes, his fingers digging into one of Spock’s cheeks, separating them just a little. “Did you…?”

His face burns, no matter how irrational embarrassment is at this point in time. He knows what Jim sees, can explain clearly and logically why he did it, but words are mostly failing him at the moment. “Yes.”

There’s a suckling, bruising kiss to his lower back; he’s going to have a mark there. “Were you fingering yourself on the bike or before you got on it?” And then there’s a hot breath over him, skimming across the lubricant he left there earlier.

He shudders and rocks forward, thrusting himself into Jim’s hand and against the seat before he can help himself. “On the bike,” he admits, voice raspy.

“Aw, fuck,” is the heartfelt response, two fingers smearing the lube around and then pushing into him without warning. He groans, trying uselessly to spread his legs further, the fingers unfulfilling, not enough. “Bring your feet up,” Jim tells him as though he can read his mind (and there are times when Spock wouldn’t put it past him to be an unconscious telepath). “Here, on the pedals.” He slips a hand around Spock’s thigh to guide him. “Bike won’t accelerate without the key in the ignition so you’re not gonna go anywhere.”

He shudders again as Jim pushes and pulls him in place, his feet propped up on the pedals and his thighs spreading slightly to accommodate the new position. He can’t help himself; he moans into the sleeve of the jacket, shifting restlessly. “Jim,” he says again, already descending into that fuzzy headspace where it’s the only word he can get past his lips.

“Yeah,” is the answering rumble, the fingers leaving him gaping and empty until he feels the blunt head of Jim’s cock pressing against him and then breaching him, filling him until he’s totally impaled, his breath coming fast and too loud in his ears. “Oh yeah,” Jim says again, planting his feet on the ground for leverage as he starts fucking into him, deep and relentless.

Spock moans helplessly, fingers digging into whatever parts of the bike he can grab, hoping he doesn’t flip any switches or press any buttons that would interrupt them. He arches his back, uses his feet on the pedals to shift and reposition himself until Jim nails his prostate. And at that point he’s gone, eyes squeezed shut and chewing on his own lower lip in an attempt to muffle all the noise he wants to make.

“Dunno how the hell you haven’t set off the horn yet,” Jim manages to get out between grunts, wrapping his hands around Spock’s hips and fucking him hard and fast.

“I- I dis-“ Spock gives up on his explanation, letting out a high keening noise as Jim drives him closer to the edge.

“You what, Spock?” Jim rasps, leaning forward as much as he can to bite at the cords of his neck. “What’d you do to my second-best girl, huh?”

“I-“ There’s no way he can get an explanation out, not with his body already driven to its limit. With another, quieter keening noise he comes all over the synthetic leather, thrusting forward into his own mess as Jim continues fucking him.

“Oh fuck, Spock, you- You-“ And Jim can’t get a full sentence out either, gasping as his hips snap forward twice more. Spock can feel the moment he comes, can feel the sudden tension in the form behind him, the way Jim’s fingers dig bruises into his hipbones, can hear the heartfelt moan as he empties himself into him.

They lie in a heated, messy heap on top of the bike, panting and getting their voices back. “You,” Jim starts again, clearing his throat when it’s still rasped-over with sex. “You made a mess of my bike.”

“The leather is synthetic. It will clean up easily,” Spock retorts, not sounding nearly as clipped and eloquent as he means to. He also doesn’t care, reaching back to grab one of Jim’s hands and stroke over his fingers. It doesn’t matter to either of them that Jim isn’t as sensitive to the gesture as Spock is; it’s the meaning that counts.

“Mm.” Jim kisses the back of his neck where there’s another series of marks starting to bloom up green under his skin. “What were you saying earlier?”

He tries to remember, chuckling when it comes to him. “I disconnected the horn.”

Jim barks out a laugh.

“I did not wish to be surprised at an inopportune moment,” Spock defends himself.

“Very logical of you, t’hy’la,” Jim says, affection coloring his voice.

“Yes. It was.”

“As was the … how should I put this? The preparation you put into this beforehand?”

His cheeks go green again. “I do not wish to discuss this anymore.”

Jim laughs, and Spock isn’t anywhere near as offended as he should be.

Ah, well.


End file.
